


Trust Issues

by PipGirl



Category: Fallout 4
Genre: Gen, graphic description of synth injury, kind of graphic description of a synth in pain
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-30
Updated: 2016-11-30
Packaged: 2018-09-03 05:30:40
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,496
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8698933
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/PipGirl/pseuds/PipGirl
Summary: Nick needs the help of an expert in synth repair. Unfortunately, what he has is Hancock.





	

**Author's Note:**

> Written for the Fallout Kink Meme.

“Goddamn it!” Hancock flinched as more gunfire blazed over his head, even though he was behind cover. Pieces of countertop flew as the raider shot at him. “Shit!” He waited for a pause in the firefight, then edged over the counter and shot the bastard square in the face. It was way more satisfying than it should have been, but damn, it had taken him and Nick a long fucking time to chew their way through these assholes. That was the last of them, though, and he left cover to look around for Nick.

The cafe looked empty.

What the hell? “Nick,” Hancock called out. When he got no response, he tried again. “Valentine?”

“Ugh...over here.”

Hancock circled around one of the diner's booths to find Nick on the floor, propped against one of the benches, his right hand limp at his side and the left clenched against his torso. “Jesus, Nick,” Hancock said, dropping to his knees beside him. “You need a stimpak? Or a repair kit?”

“Funny,” Nick replied, and his voice was already softer than it had been before. He was fading. “Damn bullet caught a major coolant feed.” He coughed, a strangely human sound, but indicative of mechanical failure. He lifted his left hand slightly and orangeish fluid, not at all like blood but disturbing nonetheless, leaked from beneath it.

“So what do you need?” Hancock asked, an unfamiliar feeling of panic rising in his chest.

Nick looked up at him sadly. “Tell Nate I'm sorry I couldn't say goodbye in person, and I hope he finds his son.” He coughed again, and this time, the orange fluid tinted his lips. “Hope you find what you're looking for, for that matter.”

“Bullshit,” Hancock spat. “Gotta be something we can do.”

Nick coughed again, softer this time, and his left hand began to slip. “You know anything about synth repair?”

His damn panic was becoming full blown now. “Course not.”

“Then not much we can do, I'm afraid.” He tried to push himself up higher, but failed. “I had a good run. More than most people get.”

Hancock just stared at the fluid soaking through Nick's shirt.

“Unless....” Nick trailed off, and his silence let loose Hancock's panic.

“Unless what?” he asked, grabbing Nick by the shoulder. “There someplace I can take you? Somebody I can get?”

“No time for that,” Nick replied, and now Hancock had to strain to hear him. “You'll have to do it yourself.”

“But I told you, I don't know anything about--”

“I'll help.” Nick tried again to push himself more upright, and this time Hancock helped him.

Hancock was, to put it mildly, freaking out at the idea, but if that's what it took.... “Okay. What do I do?”

Nick pulled his hand away to reveal a bullet hole in his shirt. He popped the buttons and pulled the shirt back to reveal a much larger and clearly older hole in his synthetic skin. “The ruptured line is in there. You need to tie off both ends. Somehow.” He leaned his head back and closed his eyes.

Hancock hesitated, but rather than think about what he was about to do, he instead tore through the duffel bag he'd been hauling around. Stuff he was collecting for Nate, crazy bastard did love building things...and there, rolls of duct tape. He pulled one out. “Will this work?” he asked, but Nick didn't reply. He grabbed at Nick's shoulder again. “Will duct tape work?”

Amber eyes fluttered open, but Hancock could have sworn they were dimmer than they should be, and Nick actually felt hot under his hand. The synth equivalent of a fever, Hancock supposed, overheating brought on by the interruption of his coolant flow. “No, it won't. Too slick, too much pressure....”

Hancock didn't wait for Nick to finish explaining before he dove back into the bag. God, all this useless crap he was dragging around, and there was nothing in here that--

“Wait, how about this. Nick, how about this?” He held up an adjustable wrench in front of Nick's face so the fading synth could see it. Slowly, Nick nodded.

Hancock hadn't wanted to drag that damned heavy thing along, but now he felt triumphant for it. “Okay, what do I do?”

Nick took a long time to reply, a long, frightening time that truly was only a second or two but an eternity to Hancock. “Need to reach inside me. Grab the torn ends. Pinch 'em together and clamp them off with the wrench.”

God. Reach inside him? In the back of his mind he'd known that was coming, but hearing the words made it a hell of a lot more real. He looked down at the gaping hole in Nick's side, torn long ago by who knew what, and could see the severed ends of the coolant tube. One lay against Nick's internal framework, and the other jerked to and fro as it spewed what had the be the last of Nick's coolant into his abdomen. If he was going to survive, Hancock had to steel himself to this, and quick. The hole wasn't large enough to get his hand through, but he shoved it in anyway, and Nick wrenched forward as the skin tore further. “Jesus!” Hancock exclaimed, but he had the presence of mind not to pull his hand back out. “Did that hurt you?”

Nick fell back again, his head lolling, and he managed a tiny nod. “Don' worry 'bout it. Just hurry.”

Hancock groped for the flailing tube, ignoring the heat from the liquid spraying over his scarred hand, and on the second try managed to grab it. “Why in the fuck would those Institute bastards make you where you could feel pain?”

“Ask myself the same question,” Nick whispered. 

Hancock pinched the line closed between forefinger and thumb, then searched with his other fingers for the other open end. He found it thankfully quickly, but then realized what he needed to do in order to clamp the wrench over both ends. “Uh...I hate to ask this, but...how much slack you got in there?”

Nick managed a rueful smile. “Guess we're gonna find out together.”

“Shit, Nick. This is gonna hurt then, isn't it?”

After a beat or three, Nick nodded. “Imagine so.”

Hancock took a moment to steady himself; he wanted to do this in one attempt. “All right, here goes. One, two,” and he gave a firm tug on the tubing ends.

They moved, but not enough to bring them to the surface of Nick's skin. Nick stiffened, but managed to hold himself otherwise still.

“Goddamn it, Nick, I'm sorry.” Hancock retightened his grip on the tubes and pulled again. Again the slack ran out before he could access the severed ends, but this time he didn't release the tension; he kept up a steady tug. He might pull something loose altogether, but Nick was dying anyway. It was this, or nothing. Nick groaned but did nothing to fight him, though his chest rose and fell rapidly as if his breath was becoming labored. Hancock did his best to ignore Nick's obvious agony and kept pulling.

And then something gave, and his hand was free of Nick's body, both ends of the compromised coolant line firm in his grip.

He scrambled for the wrench with his other hand and made quick work of clamping it down on the severed ends. When he was satisfied with the pressure and let go, the leak had stopped. Gently he eased the head of the wrench back inside the hole in Nick's skin, relieving as much of the tension on the strained line as he could. The handle of the wrench jutted out of Nick's side in a way that made his stomach lurch, but Nick was alive, his chest still rising and falling in a stuttering imitation of breath. Hancock sat back heavily, his hands draped between his knees, and tried not to throw up.

Nick managed to turn his head toward Hancock. “Thanks.”

Hancock waved a hand weakly. “Don't mention it.” After they both caught their breath a bit, he asked, “You gonna be okay until we can get you someplace for real help?”

Nick nodded a little. “You did good.”

“Shit.” Hancock shook his head. “How could you do that? How could you ask somebody to jam their hand into your guts like that?”

Frowning a little, Nick replied, “I knew you could do it. Just didn't know if you'd want to.”

“I don't want to do it again, that's for damn sure.” He got to one knee and reached down to lift Nick off the floor. “But, you know. I will if you need me to.”

Nick smiled softly as Hancock helped him out of the diner. “Here's hoping you don't.”

“Amen to that, brother.”

Slowly, they made their way back to civilization, Hancock feeling a little more protective of Nick Valentine than usual.


End file.
